by B. J Daniels
Shaking her head at the path her mind had taken, she tried to concentrate on what to do next. If she hoped to stay alive, she would need warmer clothing because Montana mornings, especially in the mountains, were cold and she had no idea how long it would take her to get to civilization. And then what?
She couldn’t think about that now. She glanced into the fuselage. All of the men had been wearing jackets when they’d abducted her from the bedroom. The thought of climbing back into the plane with two dead bodies turned her stomach. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to do something distasteful. She feared it wouldn’t be the last.
This time as she climbed into the plane, she was careful to avoid the jagged edge of the metal that had cut her leg. The pilot had taken off his brown leather jacket, but it was behind him on the seat. She pushed against his shoulder, able to move him just enough that when she tugged hard, the jacket slipped free.
As it did, his wallet and cell phone fell out of a pocket along with a thick white envelope. She picked up all three items, pocketing the wallet and phone. The envelope felt heavy. Opening the flap, she saw a stack of hundred-dollar bills.
She realized that this was probably only a percentage of what he was getting paid for the job. Too bad the pilot hadn’t found the landing strip where she assumed someone would have been waiting with the rest of his money. After all, when you kidnap Geneva Davenport, Franklin Davenport has the bucks to pay just about anything to get his granddaughter back.
Pocketing the envelope, she pulled the large leather jacket over the sweater and zipped it up. She glanced into the back of the plane at Kyle and felt her stomach turn again. Gingerly she reached in, turning her face away as she dug in the pockets of his jean jacket.
Like when she’d taken his gun, she felt safer by having his cell phone and wallet. Not that she had any idea what she planned to do with either because the last thing she could do was go to the police.
For a moment, she stopped to listen. She didn’t hear Baker, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t returned and was now hiding in the pines waiting for a chance to jump her. Pulling the gun, she carefully climbed back out, avoiding the torn metal as she searched the shadowy pines for any movement.
The sky had lightened more. She saw no one, heard nothing but the steady thump of her heart in her chest. All her instincts told her that she had to get out of here before Baker came back. Or before someone came looking for the kidnappers and the plane...and her.
Abducted out of a sound sleep, then almost killed in a plane crash, her body was revved to the max. She felt as if she could wrestle a mountain lion. But first, she realized, she had to pee.
Even though there was no one in the plane who was going to see her, she stepped away into the far shelter of a stand of pines next to a rock cliff.
Dropping her jeans, she crouched. As she stared back at what little she could see of the fuselage, she heard a sound on the clear, morning air. A horse whinnied nearby, warning her that she was no longer alone.
* * *
DAYLIGHT FINGERED ITS way through the glistening boughs of the pines by the time Thorn caught a whiff of the fumes coming from the downed plane. He brought his horse up short in a stand of pines covering the side of the mountain. Dismounting, he tied up his horse, along with the extra saddled mare and his mule carrying supplies.
Since he had no idea what he would find, he’d tried to cover all the bases. For all he knew, the woman might be injured and unable to ride out of the mountains. On the mule was a collapsible cart that he used to drag dead game out of the mountains. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he felt ready for whatever he found up here.
Pulling his weapon, he crept to the top of the rise.
In the light of dawn, he could see one silver wing caught in the tops of the pines where it had come off on impact. A half dozen pines had been sheared off when the plane hit, leaving the debarked wood glowing in the new day. Past that he spotted the other wing gleaming among a pile of branches.
Cautiously, he made his way up the mountainside, following the wreckage of the plane. It hadn’t taken him long to get to the crash site. If the woman was still alive, he knew he had to get to her as quickly as possible. But there was also a good chance that she wasn’t the one with her phone. He had no idea how many kidnappers had been in the plane. Or how many of them were still alive and going to be a problem.
He hadn’t gone far when he spotted the tail of the plane’s fuselage sticking out from a stand of pines. He stopped for a moment to listen but heard nothing.
The judge believed someone had survived the crash because the tracking device had shown them moving around the area. Had that person tried to walk out of here already? He hoped not. He didn’t feel like chasing anyone through these mountains. Only a fool would try to walk out unless the person knew exactly where he or she was. But if it was one of the kidnappers, he might be anxious to get away before someone came looking for the plane. Thorn knew the feeling. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible—and with the least amount of bloodshed.
He moved as silently as possible toward the downed fuselage. Even if someone had survived, the person might have since died of his or her injuries. Aware that the survivor could be one of the kidnappers, he stayed low, moving cautiously, his weapon in his hand loaded and ready to fire. It wasn’t the first time he’d walked into a scene like this not knowing who or what he had to fear. But he had hoped never to have to do it again.
He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he saw that the passenger-side door of the plane was hanging open. Had someone exited just as the judge had said? Or had the door come open during impact? If someone had escaped, where were they now?
While this deep in the trees it was still dark, the sun had begun to scale the backside of the mountain. A squirrel chattered from a nearby tree. He heard his horse whinny and wondered if anyone else had heard it. His skin crawled with a feeling of déjà vu. He wasn’t alone. He could feel it. Someone was alive, somewhere on this mountainside and possibly armed and dangerous.
In the next moment, the plane exploded in a deafening roar. Heat and debris drove him back as the fuselage became a ball of fire.
CHAPTER FOUR
THORN STOOD STARING at the fuselage, his heart in his throat. He was too late. If someone was still in the plane... Or had climbed back in for something...
Flames licked at the pines around the downed plane. Over the crackle and roar of the fire, he heard a branch snap off to his right—but not soon enough to react to the possible threat.
The woman came out of the trees, her eyes wide, but the gun in her hand steady as she pointed it at his chest and yelled, “Drop the gun and put your hands up!”
Caught off guard, he didn’t respond at once. She fired a shot. Bark flew from the tree next to him as the bullet hit within inches of his head. Clearly, the woman knew her way around a weapon. He dropped his pistol and slowly raised his hands as he took in the woman staring him down.
“Geneva Davenport, I assume?”
She said nothing, narrowing her blue eyes at him. “Who are you?”
“Thorn. I’m here to rescue you.”
She looked amused by that. Stray locks of her blond ponytail hung around a heart-shaped face smudged with soot. There was a small cut above her right eye, a very blue eye. She wore a too-large brown leather jacket that was obviously not hers, and sneakers without socks. There was blood on her left jeans pant leg.
What struck him was that she wasn’t acting like he’d expected a megamogul’s granddaughter to react. Hell, she wasn’t acting like any woman who’d been kidnapped and almost killed in a plane crash would behave when faced with someone saying they’d come to rescue her.
Had he expected her to run into his arms crying? He’d at least expected to see relief on her face. The last thing he’d thought he would be doing right now was staring down the
barrel of a gun.
“Geneva,” he said, thinking she must be in shock. “It’s all right. I’ve been sent by a friend of your grandfather’s.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“I have a cabin not far from here. That’s why I was sent. Your grandfather wants to make sure you’re safe. I can get you out of these mountains to safety, and then you can call him.”
“And why should I believe you?” She tilted her head toward the smoke rising from the charred fuselage. After the initial explosion, the fire had burned out quickly. He wondered if she might have a concussion. That could explain her behavior.
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me. But we need to get out of here,” he said, trying for patience. “That explosion won’t go unnoticed.” He knew she’d been through a lot, but the sooner they left, the better. “You need me.”
She smiled at that. “So you say. But I wouldn’t move if I were you. I’ve had a really rough night. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”
* * *
SHE CONSIDERED THE MAN. He looked nothing like the ones who’d abducted her. They had all looked like average Joes. Thorn, if that was his real name, looked like a mountain man, with his full dark beard and shaggy dark hair that curled out from under his weathered cowboy hat. Everything about him told her he was dangerous, maybe especially the look in his gray eyes.
He’d been sent here all right, she thought. That missing airstrip must be closer than the pilot had thought. Otherwise, how did this man find her so quickly?
Also she sensed that he didn’t want to be here any more than she did. Kidnapping was nasty business. Maybe he didn’t like being involved. So why was he? All she knew was that he shouldn’t be here, and neither should she. How long would it take before everyone realized that?
“Geneva,” he said in a calm, low, almost hypnotic voice as if talking to a child. “You need to trust me. I don’t want any harm to come to you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
He shook his head, clearly losing patience. “Look, Geneva—”
“Can you please stop calling me that?” she snapped, her head aching. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but she still felt sick to her stomach from the drugs and woozy from hitting her head when the plane crashed.
“I’m sorry.” He frowned, those gray eyes narrowing as he studied her. “What would you like me to call you?” Now he really was talking down to her as if she was a child.
She felt her finger on the trigger tighten. When was this nightmare ever going to end? Yes, what would you like him to call you? “How about JJ?”
“JJ?” His frown deepened, those eyes intent on her.
It was what her father had called her. Just the thought of him made her heart ache. If he could see her now. “I called myself JJ when I was little. It stuck.” The best lies begin with a little truth, she’d learned.
“So not Geneva?”
She groaned inwardly. “My grandfather only uses the name Geneva when he’s angry with me.” That at least was true as well, kind of.
“Okay, JJ, now can we get out of here?”
He’d said she just needed to trust him. Trust didn’t come easy to her even under the best of circumstances—and these were definitely not that.
She had a gun on him, one she hoped she wouldn’t have to use, but it was definitely an option she was keeping open. She had no reason to trust this man and every reason not to.
“As I was saying, JJ, they will be looking for the plane. If they are nearby, they will have seen the flames. We have to go. Now.”
“How did you find me?” she asked, still not convinced that he wasn’t in league with the kidnappers. How else had he known where to find the plane? He said he lived nearby. Near a landing strip where he’d been waiting for a small plane to arrive? He’d certainly found the plane quickly.
“There’s a tracking device on your phone.”
On her phone? She blinked in surprise, the gun wavering for just an instant as she realized that he meant on Geneva’s phone.
It was apparently the opening he needed. She hadn’t seen him move until he was on her. She got off another shot before he wrestled the weapon from her hands, but the bullet went wild. He threw her to the ground as if it was definitely not his first time overpowering someone.
Anger coursed through her and she fought him, not because she thought she could get free. She knew that like the others, he’d be too strong for her. She fought because she was mad and sick of the way she was being treated and furious at the injustice. This should not have been happening to her.
“Whoa,” he said as he gathered her wrists in one large hand and pressed them above her head. His body held her to the ground no matter how hard she tried to throw him off. “I’m one of the good guys.”
She looked into his gray eyes and scoffed. “Sure doesn’t look like it from where I am.”
“Sorry about having to get rough with you, but I don’t take kindly to anyone holding a gun on me.”
“Especially a woman?”
“Especially an angry, scared woman.” His gray eyes softened, reminding her of the earlier dawn. She saw that there were tiny laugh wrinkles around those eyes. She guessed his age at thirtysomething—much like her own even though she still got carded in bars because she looked so young. Which was another reason the men who’d kidnapped her hadn’t realized their mistake.
She stared at the man now, wondering what he would look like without the beard, and then wondering where that stray thought had come from.
As he started to search her with his free hand, she bucked and fought, but it did no good. He emptied the pockets of the pilot’s leather jacket, first taking out the cell phones, then the wallets and finally the envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills.
His gaze fell on hers. “You took these off the men in the plane?” He made it sound almost as ghoulish as it had been.
“I wanted to know who abducted me,” she snapped.
He seemed to consider that, studying her as if he wasn’t so sure about her. If he only knew. Clearly, he’d expected her to be sitting on a tree stump crying and waiting to be rescued when he found her. He hadn’t really thought she would run into his arms, had he? Maybe the real Geneva might have, she realized.
She felt a change in him. He was starting to question things. He was starting to have doubts. She wanted away from here as badly as he apparently had just moments before. She just wasn’t sure she wanted him taking her anywhere. But the alternative might be him leaving her here as dead as Kyle and the pilot.
“There’s something you should know,” she said, shifting his suspicion away from her for a moment. “One of the men escaped the plane. I figure he hasn’t gone far and that he will be coming back.”
* * *
THAT STOPPED THORN COLD. He’d just assumed she was the only one who’d survived the crash. Then when the plane blew up... He froze on top of her and looked around, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck again.
“You just decided to tell me that?” he snapped. “Is the man injured?”
“He was limping the last time I saw him.”
“Which direction did he go?”
She gave him an impatient look. “Like I can tell you from down here.”
Thorn considered the woman. She definitely wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Still he’d assumed she would be glad that someone had come to rescue her.
Instead, she’d held a gun on him and was still fighting him. Hell, she’d actually fired two shots at him, one so close to his head that the bark from the tree next to him had pelted his face. Not to mention the fact that she’d been calm enough to go through two dead men’s pockets and take their wallets, cell phones and an envelope full of cash. That didn’t sound like a spoiled, rich, pampered young woman who’d been kidnap
ped in the middle of the night and barely survived a plane crash.
“I thought you said we had to get out of here,” she said, glaring at him.
“Now you’re ready to go?”
“I would like that just fine.” She bucked under him and managed to get one hand free. Her fist struck him in the jaw.
He grabbed her wrist again. “Knock it off. You’re going to hurt yourself.” His words fell on deaf ears as she continued to fight him.
Instead, he dragged her up from the ground and over to a thick trunked pine tree, her swinging and kicking at him the whole time. She was a wild thing, full of spit and vinegar, as his grandmother used to say.
Pulling off his belt with one hand as he held her off with the other, he wrapped the belt around her waist and the tree. He tightened the belt until she could still breathe, but was no longer a danger to either of them for the moment.
“Nice right hook,” he said, rubbing his jaw as he watched her try to free herself from the tree. “You are one stubborn woman, you know that?” He glanced around, listening, but didn’t hear anyone approaching. Maybe the kidnapper was trying to walk out of the mountains. Or maybe not. It was bad enough having to fight this woman knowing there was someone even more dangerous out in the woods.
“The man who left the plane... Is he armed?”
She shrugged as she glared daggers at him and he considered what to do next. Fortunately, she’d taken the kidnappers’ phones and wallets, so he had the IDs of the two before the plane blew up. But if there had been any evidence on board the plane, it was gone now. He couldn’t help but wonder what had made the plane explode.
* * *
JJ WATCHED THE cowboy check the men’s wallets and cell phones. Both phones were password protected, and there was no cell phone service up here on the mountain. She knew because she’d already tried when she was peeing in the woods. The men were Wesley “Wes” Brennan and Kyle Spencer, both of Kalispell, Montana. She’d never heard of either of them—not much of a surprise, all things considered.
